


(Not) A One Night Stand

by HiMiTSu



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Romance, Stupid brooding agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry wakes up at the crack of down. Bed rumpled and distinctly lacking a man he spent the night with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not) A One Night Stand

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's been a while since the last story. I'm working on a longer fic that is turning out to be longer than I originally planned. Still, as usual, hope you'll enjoy reading!:)

Harry wakes up at the crack of dawn, brought to the consciousness by sounds of gunfire. He’s fully alert in a second, hand unconsciously reaching for a gun on the nightstand. Two things register in the next moment: he’s at the mansion and there was a shooting practice for the candidates scheduled for the morning – that relaxes him immediately. The second thing has Harry frowning though; there is no gun on the night stand, just as there is no old clock or a book he got a couple of days ago.

Not his night stand then, not his bed and also not his room.

With a groan he shoves his face back into the fluffy pillow, realizing there is one more thing missing. In this huge rumpled bed he is completely alone. Naked and sore as a result of his late night activities but definitely lacking a partner. Headache and hangover are prominent, but not bad enough to make him forget the night. Strong hands roughly shoving him on the bed and then embracing him gently, lips whispering filthy things into his ear before sliding down his neck, tearing a gasp from Harry’s throat:

“Merlin!”

Harry repeats the name into the pillow now, less passion and more irritation in his tone now.

Merlin, with whom he was drinking the previous night. Well, that was an understatement. They got totally plastered celebrating success of their last mission; it got to the point where Harry wasn’t able to keep tight control on his impulses and desires and ended up snogging Merlin. Still the other man wasn’t protesting and what at first seemed like a couple of innocent kisses evolved into more, up to the point where Merlin’s bed was absolutely essential.

Now it doesn’t seem like such a fun idea.

He really wishes he could just throw the comforter over his head and sleep until he forgets what an idiot he is. But that is not an option. Merlin has left and there is no note, nothing to indicate that Harry’s prolonged presence is welcome. So he moves, his body tired and sore, dragging himself out of bed; pauses by a full length mirror to survey the damage, noting hand shaped bruises on his hip and an impressive hickey on the right clavicle. He would have felt happier if the man who left them had not disappeared.

Harry picks up his discarded articles of clothing, strewn around the bedroom and living room, putting them on carefully in an attempt to make himself look presentable. It’s not an easy feat, what with his jacket all rumpled, trousers bearing what seems to be a wine stain and his shirt missing a button. What is left to him is the hope that he won’t bump into anyone in the corridors. It’s still unreasonably early, but knights and agents in training roam these halls not caring of an hour.

At the last moment he remembers to snatch his glasses from the coffee table, before leaving in a hurry and sneaking through the mansion to the one room that had been assigned him. Harry prefers living in his own house, despite having lodgings at the headquarters, but from time to time he gets too tired to get back to the city or is in a desperate need of a shower and a fresh suit. Just like right now.

Hot water works wonderfully to sooth the ache in his muscles but unfortunately could do nothing for his troubled mind. His thoughts keep flashing back to the night, relieving every detail with beautiful precision.

His head hits the tiled wall as Harry tries to shoo the thoughts away. It doesn’t work well.

He groans.

It doesn’t work at all.

-

Harry doesn’t see Merlin for the whole day and is not sure if it’s because he is carefully choosing his routs through the mansion as not to bump into him or if it’s because Merlin himself is avoiding him. (Not that Harry wanders around much). There is one thing Harry is sure in though, both of them do not need any awkward interactions in the corridors.

He contemplates leaving for home, there are a few reports that need working on, but shoots the idea down. Why? Harry doesn’t bother coming up with an answer; it’s not like anyone is going to inquire.

So he spends the day in the room, not checking his phone every few minutes, thank you very much, and definitely not brooding.

There is no sign of Merlin – not that Harry is expecting anything from him, but still…there is a noticeable absence of any contact. Which actually is only noticeable since Harry has nothing better to do. He reads a book, answers emails from his colleagues and even politely and unobtrusively inquires Arthur whether or not he’s cleared to take on another assignment. He doesn’t get any reply, which probably means that his superior has far more important (interesting) things to do, but it still bugs Harry to be staying in one place. It only gives him more time to think about Merlin.

It’s strange really, Harry muses, that the other man’s real name is still a mystery to him. Merlin keeps all the information on his personal life heavily sealed and hidden, insisting that ‘Merlin’ is the way he likes being addressed, even during personal conversations. It’s fine, though. Harry doesn’t mind.

What he does not like is being discarded after a night of intimacy.

But that’s not something he should be dwelling on.

It’s late in the evening, when Harry is cleaning his gun – not the standard model but a personal weapon – when the door to his room is forcefully thrown open. A towering figure steps inside, closing it with the same vigor and, with more care, sliding the lock into place.

“I’ve spent hours looking for you.” Merlin says, affronted and angry.

Harry schools his features into a neutral expression; no use for it now that the other man has witnessed his wide eyed shock, but still it helps him keep an illusion of dignity.

“I have been here the whole time.” Harry’s reply is perfectly calm, emotionless.

“Sulking in your room?” Merlin exclaims incredulously. Harry splutters but can not utter a word. “That’s very dignified of you!”

At that Harry finally finds the words, or more like they find him and tear their way out of his throat with great volume. “Dignified? You are the one to talk about dignity! You left me alone in the morning!”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Merlin winces.

“You could at least have left a note. Anything! Any little clue to show that…” Harry stops before he says anything he won’t be able to take back.

“Show what?” Merlin pressures, but there is softness in his voice and his eyes. He takes a step that brings him closer to Harry, tentative.

It’s at that moment that Harry gives up on his pride. “That last night had meant something to you.”

He refuses to avert his eyes, holding Merlin’s gaze steadily, resolved to see this through no matter how much embarrassment his confession might bring. But Merlin’s eyes are gentle, just as his words. “Of course, it meant something.”

“Doesn’t look like that from where I’m standing.”

“Maybe you should come to my side then?” Merlin jokes, but seeing how the humor isn’t received well, changes tactics. “Or you can just put on your glasses.”

That earns him a frown.

“I am serious though.” Merlin tries to amend, but it doesn’t seem very redeeming to Harry. “Where are your glasses?”

Harry hesitates for a moment, waiting to see what else the other has to say, but gives up when there is no continuation. Following the request he reaches for the glasses in the inside pocket of his jacket, holding them out.

“No, don’t give them to me. Put them on, please.”

Confused, Harry still follows the request. It’s ridiculous how much he trusts Merlin. It is essential in their field of work, but doesn’t necessary extend to their personal relations. And still…

And while Harry is carefully unfolding the glasses and sliding them onto his nose Merlin continues talking. “I know you don’t require the glasses on a regular basis, but I was hoping you’d put them on at least once during the day. At least to check your mail…”

Harry was using his phone for that purposes for the whole day, actually avoiding the glasses, now though….Now he regrets not wearing them the moment he woke up. The small screens right before his eyes are lit up by a short message.

“Oh…” Harry breathes out. So maybe he was unreasonably dramatic.

The message reminds Harry that a number of training exercises for the candidates is scheduled for that day, which means Merlin will be busy with babysitting duty, but there also is a small addition where Merlin hopes that Harry will be able to join him for lunch.

“You couldn’t have just left a normal note, could you?” Harry takes the glasses off and rolls his eyes, fondly.

“This is far more convenient.”

“Oh yes, the practice shows just that…”

Harry can’t really continue with this quarrel, relived now that all his sulking (and he can admit this to himself even though he’ll never say so to Merlin) was unwarranted. He smiles and reaches for the other man, Merlin happily stepping into the embrace and sliding his hands around Harry.

“Just think this through next time,” he says, fingers splayed over Merlin’s cheeks as he leans in for a kiss.

Merlin moves away, laughs at Harry’s indignant huff, and says. “ _Next time_ actually talk to me before leaving to brood alone.”

Harry would have hit him, but he has far more pleasant things on his mind. So he kisses Merlin and for a long time neither of them talks.


End file.
